


Aristotle

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drama, F/M, Friendship, Post Bartlett Administration, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-30
Updated: 2005-03-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: A Letter, a Candidate, the White House Press Secretary, an airport. It's Aristotle all over the place.





	Aristotle

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Aristotle**

**by: Francesca and Karen**

**Pairing(s):** Sam/CJ  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters (I wish) but am just borrowing them for a while, I will put them back – honest, no copyright infringement is intended. I’m just taking Sam Seaborn’s advice #grins# "Good writers borrow from other writers. Great writers steal from them outright." I'm not borrowing or stealing, just sneaking some use while no one's looking.  
**Summary:** A Letter, a Candidate, the White House Press Secretary, an airport. It's Aristotle all over the place.  
**Spoiler:** Sometime after #410 ‘Arctic Radar’  
**Author's Note:** In the words of Sam “It was a confluence of events that I'm saying if you pitched it to a Hollywood movie producer, they'd tell you that Aristotle says, "A probable impossibility is preferable to an improbable possibility." 

Seaborn for Congress Fundraiser, Newport Beach 11.45pm 

Sam turned and smiled at the woman to his left who for some unfathomable reason was trying to tell him about the plight of wired workers and recommend a good plastic surgeon, which apparently you can afford on a wired worker’s salary. He was wondering just how soon he was going to be able to make his excuses when he heard the familiar sound of his cell. He smiled slightly despite his surroundings, wondering to himself if this is what was meant when the phrase 'saved by the bell' was first uttered... 

“If you’ll excuse me I’m just going to take this” he explained fishing his ‘phone from his jacket pocket. 

The woman leaned forward trying to read the display, and he tried to obscure it with his hand as he read it himself. “Is it anyone important?” she asked. 

He looked at her “It’s the White House Press Secretary”. He thanked God for C.J as he had done more than once over the last five years. One thing he could count on her for was her immaculate timing. 

He flipped the phone open and walked to a quiet part of the room “Seaborn”. 

“Hi Sam” 

“Hi C.J, what can I do for you?” 

“Are you doing anything right now?” 

“Well I’m trying to find a good excuse to leave a fundraiser before it winds down and before anyone else tries to give me the number of their plastic surgeon”. 

“How soon could you be at John Wayne Airport? How come John Wayne gets an airport named after him anyway?” 

“I’ve never figured that one out myself. I can drive there in fifteen minutes, what’s at John Wayne Airport?” 

“I am” 

Sam looks at his phone as though it may have suddenly developed a malfunction and is tempted to shake the receiver. “You’re where?” 

“I’m in the lounge at John Wayne Airport, do you want to pick me up or should I call a cab?” 

He can’t help himself, he’s smiling now, C.J’s here and what ever has brought her here, what ever she has to tell him that couldn’t be said over the phone or by email he’s not going to think about right now. He’s just going to enjoy her company for a while, and maybe bask in her presence, and then what ever it is he needs to know he’ll deal with. But right now he just wants to see her, badly. 

He returns to the fundraiser and makes his apologies and it seems to take forever to leave. He finally makes his escape and walks out into the night. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

John Wayne Airport, Orange County, Just after Midnight. 

He pulls up outside the airport lounge and looks for her, he doesn’t think he’s broken any speed limits getting here but it was close. He looks at the dashboard and shakes his head as he realises she wouldn’t know the rental car, so he’s going to have to go look for her. This isn’t going to be that much of a hardship there aren’t many women as tall as C.J and he could pick her out of a crowd, possibly with his eyes closed. He smiles sheepishly, there aren’t likely to be that many people in the airport at this time of night. 

Anyhow Seaborn, you’re prevaricating because much as you want to see C.J, much as you know that you’re going to savour the time spent in her company when she’s gone but if she’s here then odds are something’s come up that cant be trusted to email, can’t be said on a cell phone and that means it’s big and it could be bad. He braces himself and gets out of the car, hits the automatic locking and pushes open the door to the airport. She’s not that difficult to find because she’s standing in the main hall behind the statue of John Wayne, she’s pacing and he wonders what’s on her mind. He takes her in, just for a moment when he knows she doesn’t know he’s watching. She’s wearing her coat, her bag’s slung over her shoulder, but she’s not in a suit, he can see the strappy high heeled shoes on her feet and the long red skirts of what could be an evening dress. If C.J’s come here in a hurry, in too much of a hurry to change this could be bad on so many levels. He catches his reflection in a glass window as he walks toward her and realises he’s still wearing his tux from the fundraiser. He allows himself a smile; she once told him he could wear a tux. 

“C.J” he calls and waves, closing the distance between them. 

She whirls around and smiles as she catches sight of him “Sam. It’s good to see you” 

She looks him up and down, “You look good” 

“So do you”, you have no idea how good. 

She looks down at herself and pulls a face “I had dinner with the President before I got on the flight”. She must be able to see the puzzled look on his face because she explains “the First Lady’s got the flu and I filled in”. 

A quiet part of him thanks the great whatever from high atop the thing that she hadn’t come from a date. 

“You didn’t come out here just to tell me I look good though” better get down to business or I’m going to start thinking of all the things I want to say to you again. 

He knows he had one of ‘those’ nights a few days ago when he sat down, drank a few beers and tried to write ‘the speech’. He couldn’t find his latest effort the next morning, but the wastepaper basket in the lounge of the suite was empty so he figured he must have binned it with the other drafts and its so much trash someplace. One day he thinks to himself, one day he’ll get it right and he’ll find the words. 

She looks a little self conscious all of a sudden, and he wonders what’s caused the crack in her composure. 

“Let’s sit down” is what she says and he lets her take his hand and lead him to one of the banks of chairs. He’d follow her anywhere but that’s just one of the many things she doesn’t know. 

They sit down and he waits for her to speak. 

“I got a letter today, well yesterday now” 

He looks at her, and he knows the confusion he’s feeling must be showing on his face, she’s here because of a letter? He’d been thinking about the fact that Leo more or less confirmed to him that they assassinated Abdul Sharif, about the up and coming Inauguration, about the Bahji and C.J’s here about a letter? 

“Is it threats? Because I don’t think there are any more embarrassing photos of me out there, well apart from my baby pictures and my mother’s still got those. Oh please don’t tell me she’s handing them out now?” 

“Sam” C.J’s voice stops him in his tracks 

He dips his head for a moment, “I’m acting like a nervous hooleilia, right?” 

“Right” 

“So what’s in the letter?” 

She opens her handbag and makes a show of digging around and produces a very familiar looking envelope, she hands it to him and he can see the address on the front and as he looks at the familiar handwriting he realises she’s holding his effort from a few nights ago. He takes it from her, slowly, it’s been opened and he knows there’s no chance she hasn’t read it. There’s no doubt about it this is bad on so many levels and it may be about to get much worse. He doesn’t know how it got from his hotel suite to her hands and he can’t help but smile, it looks like Aristotle hasn’t finished with him yet. 

He hands it back to her, and doesn’t dare say a word because he doesn’t know what she’s thinking, doesn’t know if she’s here to blow him out of the water, dress him down, berate him or maybe tell him never to speak to her again. 

He takes a deep breath and looks up into her face, he’s been avoiding her eyes since the moment he recognised his hand writing. Her eyes are dark and unreadable and offer him no help at all. 

“You’ve got something you want to tell me Sam?” 

She’s not calling him Spanky; C.J only calls him Sam when she’s being deadly serious, otherwise he’s Spanky, Samshine or on occasion even ‘shmutsy pants’. His mouth is dry, he’s gripping the edge of the metal seat with his hands and his mind’s whirling, where to start, does he spin it, be honest no matter what it costs? He can’t joke about it; it’s too precious to him for that. He settles for honesty, because she deserves nothing less. 

“If you’ve read that I think you already know” he says quietly 

She looks at him, and as the silence grows he realises this is something she needs to hear from him, not just read. And he realises that the first step’s been taken she already knows, through an Aristotelian confluence of events that could only happen to him. 

He looks straight at C.J; because he needs to try to read her reaction, see if he can interpret what’s going on behind those eyes. 

“I’m in love with you” after all the years of waiting it’s surprisingly easy to say, he wonders if it’s easier because she knows, the choice of if he should speak is out of his hands He wants to choose his words carefully because he needs to make her understand, needs to make her see. 

“I’ve been in love with you for five years”. It’s the simple unvarnished truth but he knows that this is C.J and she doesn’t realise how amazing she is, how unique. He knows he’s going to have to give her whys and wherefores and he’s going to have this one chance. 

*** 

Now it's not every woman who gets to hear that. Is it? I've been in love with you for five years? I don't know whether to kiss him or smack him upside the head. And isn't that what I've been trying to decide since I first read his letter. Should I kiss him, because he looks about as kissable as any man ever has? It's late, or early depending on your view, and he looks so impossibly young and handsome and he's wearing the hell out of his tux, as he always does...But on the other hand, this is ridiculous and it's all Sam’s fault. If only he hadn't written that blessed letter, then I'd be home by now, and I'd be out of these awful, uncomfortable shoes. So I should tell Sam all this, right, because he's just told me he loves me, and I'm being rather quiet. Usually I've got quite a lot to say for myself, so this has to be good. I have to choose the right words. 

"My feet hurt." 

Smooth, CJ. Really smooth. 

"What?" 

Well, at least I'm not the only one having problems forming coherent sentences. 

"I was thinking about... Well, it doesn't matter, Sam. I'm wearing uncomfortable shoes." 

"Okay." 

"That's not what I meant to say, sorry. Every time I open my mouth to say the right thing I sort of mess it up." 

And he's smiling now, that wonderful Sam smile, the one that is reflected in his eyes and even the pallor of his skin. I love him when he looks like that. Oh... Did I just say that? And did I mean it? Or am I just cold, with sore feet, and desperate for sleep? It couldn't be that, could it? 

"CJ, what do you want to do? Do you want to get some coffee?" 

"Coffee would be nice, but could we get out of here? It's a little bit public, even at this time. If that's okay?" 

Did I just ask Sam if I could go back to his place? It occurs to me that I might look a little desperate, is it normal for a woman to get in a plane and chase after the promise of a romance like this? But then I can't remember what normal is, and that's what has made the past five years so wonderful. That and this man standing in front of me. This man who is looking at me like he's equal parts scared and happy. It looks good on him. 

"Of course it's okay CJ, whatever you want." 

And I believe him when he says that. I believe that whatever I want would be what Sam would do right now, and I love him for it. Oh, I have to stop saying that, I might start believing it's true. 

"I want to take my shoes off, take me somewhere I can do that." 

As I rise to leave with Sam my hand finds it way to his almost as a reflex, I was several strides into my exit before I realised what I'd done. What we'd done. I think Sam realised at the exact moment I did, because we're staring at each other now, wondering what to do next. 

"Sorry." 

"It's okay, Sam. It was me too. Come on; let's just get out of here." 

And this time it's sweet, because he's taken my hand and placed it on his arm, echoing a move we've made a hundred times at White House dinners. I like the feel of his arm under my hand, he feels solid. Real. After all these months of absence, of communications by email or phone, it's good to finally be in his presence. I've missed this man. I should tell him that, shouldn't I? 

"I've got a rental car, CJ, so we can go where ever you want?" 

"Sam, it's late, can we go back to where you're staying. That is if you'll let me take my shoes off there..." 

And he's smiling again; I'd forgotten I had the power to do that. I can make Sam Seaborn smile. And maybe that's enough. 

"CJ you can take off whatever..." 

"Sam!" 

"Sorry, but you set it up, I had to take it." 

"Okay, point taken. Now take me home, I'm freezing." 

So he is, taking me home that is. But it's not his home; it's a hotel, which seems much more dangerous and forbidden. And that's the problem with Sam, I guess. He's always been forbidden in so many ways. I work with him, or did, you know what I mean... And he's my friend, and he's so impossibly young. Well, actually he isn't anymore, and he probably never was really, but we've always drawn Sam that way. I'm looking at him now, as he drives me to his hotel. He's beautiful in profile; his tanned skin looks glorious in the moonlight. And I think to myself, I could have this, this could be my life. Sam wants to be the man who meets me at airports and then drives me home. It occurs to me I'm slightly strange, my reaction to Sam’s profession of love is that he'll be the one to pick me up at airports. Not that he'll be the one to kiss me awake... Okay, I'm stopping that train of thought before it even begins. I want to be sensible tonight, if it's not a little too late for that. Travelling cross country in my finery was not my most sensible decision ever, so I'll have to be on my guard for the rest of this visit. 

"So." 

Sam, please don't say "so" like that. Please, I don't have the answers you're looking for, not right now. I'm still trying to make my way towards a resolution, do you understand? 

"Sam, I don't know what to say." 

"Just what a man wants to hear when he tells a woman he loves her." 

Wonderful, now I've hurt his feelings. This has certainly been one of those nights. 

"Sam, can we not do this here? I didn't mean it like that, but I'm feeling a little overwhelmed and I want to talk, but not like this. I need to feel a little bit more human than I do right now. I've had a horrible night, the First Lady was mean to me." 

And that seems to do the trick, the tension which has been so suffocating for the last few minutes has evaporated as quickly as it appeared. And okay, it's at my expense, but at least we're laughing. Sam is laughing and it's a joyous sound. 

"The First Lady was mean to you?" 

"Don't laugh at me, Sam, it was quite upsetting." 

"Really?" 

"No, not really. She tried to shout at me for not being sick, but was too sick to really raise her voice the way she likes to." 

"You look tired CJ, you shouldn't work so much." 

"Okay, two things Samuel. Number one, stop looking at me, look at the road. I refuse to be in an accident in this dress, it cost too much money to be ruined before I get at least two more White House dinners out of it. And two, never tell a woman she looks tired, we know it's just another way for telling her she looks awful." 

"You look beautiful." 

See he shouldn't be allowed to say things like that; it makes me want to kiss him. Makes me want to close the door of Sam's hotel room and never open it again, well not for a week or so anyway. But I'm not allowed to think like that, I'm not. 

"Sam?" 

"Sorry." 

"I'm not, Sam. But this is all a little much, you know?" 

"I do, CJ, I do." 

And suddenly we're here, wherever it is that Sam is living. I can't put off the conversation any longer because he's opening my door for me, which is another of his wonderful traits. He's old school, gallant and kind, and I love him for it. I really have to stop saying that. But then his hand is on mine and breathing is once again difficult. 

"Let me help you out." 

"Thank you." 

I couldn't be any less articulate if I tried. But I can't help it, I'm a little overwhelmed by the nearness of Sam, maybe I'm a little drunk on him. He's closing the car door behind me but he has kept a hold of my hand, and once again I delight in the softness of his skin. I do love this man. 

I do. 

So I hold his hand a little tighter and follow him inside. 

***** 

I close the door and take a deep breath; I’ve been thinking about this all the way back in the car, if there were laws against driving when distracted I’ve broken all of them. But then again I’d defy any judge to look at C.J and not accept her as mitigating circumstances. 

“Do you want a drink?”, she shakes her head. I do, want a drink I mean but I can’t have one, not ‘till I’m done because I don’t want to give her any reason to say that this is the alcohol talking, or any other reason to disbelieve what I’m about to say. 

“C.J”, she turns to me. “Will you take your coat off and sit down?” 

'So she does, draping it over the back of one of the sofas, and now I really need to remember to breathe because the evening dress she’s wearing is red, which I knew, what I didn’t know is that she looks stunning in it. I gather my thoughts because they’ve just scattered to the four winds. 

“Please sit down?” there’s a touch of pleading in my voice at the moment but I’m desperately trying to concentrate here and she’s not helping me. 

Get on with it Seaborn “C.J I’m taking over, just for a moment here. You’re going to sit down on the sofa, I’m going to collect my thoughts and I’m going to talk to you and you are going to listen” 

She shoots me a look, “You’re taking over?” 

“Well I’m trying to; allow me the illusion just for a few minutes?” 

She's looking at me like I'm crazy but she sits, thank God. I want to pace, help me get my thoughts back on track but I can’t. She knows, which may be a good thing because she hasn’t laughed in my face, then again being C.J she wouldn’t. I have no idea how she feels and I can’t blow this, I cant, all I can do is tell her how I feel and hope it’s enough. 

“I’ve been trying to write you into my world for five years, off and on, and I’m sorry if this doesn’t make much sense but I hadn’t thought further than writing the speech” I shot her a rueful look, trying to buy time. “I hadn’t thought about you sitting here with me while I told you, didn’t think about how it would feel not knowing what you’re thinking” I pause “truth is it’s more distracting than I expected” 

“I looked at you when we first met in New Hampshire and I thought you were beautiful, but I was going through a messy break up and you were this lovely, tall and somewhat intimidating woman who knew exactly what she was doing. And you and Josh sat up with me late at night, and we drank together, and we hung out and as the walls came down I realised you weren’t just beautiful outside, you were beautiful inside and I began to fall in love with you” 

"Tall?" 

"What?" 

"You remembrance of our first meetings are that I was tall?" 

"I said you were beautiful, CJ." 

"Funny, all I heard was tall." 

"Then you're not listening, or I'm not saying this right. Please, CJ, let me do this?" 

"Okay. Okay. So you were telling me about..." 

“I was telling you about my feelings for you. I’m not saying it was the thunderbolt; I’m not saying I was infatuated, I didn’t just wake up one morning and think ‘things to do today fall in love with C.J Cregg’. It came over time, when we laughed together, when you sang the Jackal, when we put Josh to bed drunk, ran rings around Toby and I knew by the night we won our first election that this was what I wanted, that loving you was part of me but by that time we were friends and I didn’t know how you felt, if you’d never speak to me again if I told you how I was feeling. So I didn’t dare tell you because I didn’t know if I could risk losing your friendship, it means a lot to me C.J and I don’t want that to change.” 

I move forward, crouch on the floor and take her hands as I look up into her face, there’s something in her eyes but I can’t interpret it. Got to keep going… 

“And I tried seeing other women, Laurie, though that didn’t exactly turn out the way I thought it would” 

She sniggers, but I carry on anyway. 

“I dated Mallory, well let’s be honest we bumped into each other at White House functions and I took her out for dinner once, but then I never called her back. I know I told you once it was after the picture with Laurie but that was only an excuse, it was because she wasn’t you, could never be you and that was what I wanted, what I needed, what I was looking for. And once I realised that there would never be another you, I stopped looking for you in other women and started writing speeches at midnight. I wrote speeches on planes, in hotel suites, in the backs of motorcades, in bars, in my office, at home. I wrote them everywhere and they all came up short. That one in your bag, if I’d have read it again in the morning it would have ended up in the trash with the rest of them because all I have is words and they’re not enough for you, you deserve more.” 

“I could tell you why I love you, but we’d be here all night and maybe you still wouldn’t believe me in the morning” I let go of her hands, because I know what I’m going to do now and she may just kill me, but hey I’ll die happy. 

I lean forward, tilt my head very slightly and I do what I’ve dreamed about for five years, I kiss C.J. It starts as a brush of lips, but then something really amazing happens, she kisses me back. 

I can taste coffee on her lips, but underneath that is the taste of C.J and I’m 33 and kisses have never felt like this before….and I wonder what I’ve been doing wrong, or maybe it’s just I haven’t been kissing the right woman. Her arms wrap around my shoulders and I’m lost. Absolutely lost. 

***** 

His lips are softer than I imagined. Did I imagine them before now? I must have or I wouldn't be thinking like this now... But why am I thinking this, shouldn't I be thinking about the man who is kissing me. The man I seem to be holding in my arms, the man I seem to be kissing back. Maybe this is how it's meant to be; maybe I could lose myself in him now. I want to, I really do. His nose is on my cheek as his lips trail from mine along my jaw line and up to my ear. I know he can feel me trembling as I can him, I want this to never end. I try to tell him that with my lips, kissing his eyelids, his nose, and then finally his lips are on mine again. Warm and sweet, and dangerous. This is dangerous, which is why I should stop this. 

"Sam..." 

I am breathless and don't really know what I'm going to say, but there has to be words and distance. Because this is dangerous, but then I mentioned that already. 

"CJ I lo..." 

"Please don't say it again, Sam. Please. I need to talk to you, and I can't do it like this. And you can't sit down there all night." 

"I would if you asked me to." 

And he's unleashed that dazzling smile again, trying to charm me with his mere presence. And he is, of course he is, but that can't be enough right now. And maybe Sam thinks the same thing; he's trying again to distract me with his moves. He is kneeling still while kissing my palm, and again I can feel myself trembling. I suppose he did say he was taking control, I just didn't think he'd be this good at it. 

"Sam?" 

"I'm busy." 

I can feel rather than see his smile, but it is no less wonderful for that. But I have things to say, and I won't be able to concentrate if I maintain this proximity to Sam and his magical lips. I think I must need sleep, or maybe a drink, because I'm pretty sure I just mentioned the words magical and lips in the same sentence. 

"Sam you need to stop with the kissing, this isn't what I want." 

And that seems to have done the trick; there is now an absence of Sam and his lips. Well it's what you wanted Claudia Jean. 

"I'm sorry, I thought..." 

And he stops there; I've hurt him with my carelessness. It's what I do. 

"Can we slow down, Sam? I didn't mean to say that, I don't know what I'm saying. This is not what I thought I'd be doing tonight, or this morning, or whatever this is. I'm supposed to be at home, I'm certainly not supposed to be in this dress. So can we breathe for a minute? I could use a drink." 

"Okay, I'm sorry..." 

"Stop with sorry, okay? You haven't done anything wrong, but I think we both need a drink. And I need to take off my shoes and work out how to breathe in this dress." 

"You have no other clothes with you." 

"I was kind of in a rush to get here. I got a really beautiful letter and then got on a plane, I didn't think beyond that. I didn't think about the practicalities of wearing formal wear while on my little errand." 

"I have clothes." 

"Now that's just mean Sam, boasting about your clothes to a woman with one dress." 

"Are you gonna make fun of me for the rest of your life CJ?" 

"Thinking about it." 

"Okay, but I do have clothes you know. Maybe a shirt?" 

"Maybe, can I ask you a question?" 

"Anything." 

"What height are you?" 

"What?" 

"Height? What about 6 ft 1? Something like that?" 

"Yeah." 

"And I'm, as we've already established, tall. Right? Can you see where I'm going with this?" 

"No." 

"When you wear clothes, Sam, you wear a shirt and trousers. Why is that?" 

"Okay. Okay, I see what you're saying. But I wouldn't mind, I'm a fan of legs so it would be no bother." 

Flirting with Sam, I've had worse nights. 

"Well, I'm beginning to see that, but I'll pass on that. Do you have a bathrobe I can borrow?" 

"Spoilsport." 

"But you love me for it." 

Oh, my goodness, wasn't that the wrong thing to say. Sam has gone a troubling shade of red, I hope it's embarrassment rather than anger. 

"Are you making fun of me, CJ, because..." 

"No. No, that just came out. You were Sam for a minute, the Sam I make fun of, not the man who was just kissing me. Look, let me get changed, and we can talk." 

So he does, he lets me go into his bathroom and peel off my gown. I want to hide in here for a while, gather my nerve and the words which will find us a solution tonight. But time is ticking by, and Sam says he's been waiting for this conversation for 5 years so I should really get back out there. I wish I'd thought about this a little more, at least brought a change of clothes with me. I feel like a fool as I open the door, barefoot and wrapped in a white towelling robe. I don't feel very sexy, and I don't feel very protected. Did Sam always make me feel this vulnerable, or is it my state of undress knocking me off balance like this? I think it's a little of both. 

"CJ, can I say something to you?" 

"Man, where did you come from?" 

"I have scotch. I was lurking, waiting for you to come out here" 

"Oh, that's fine then, lurking is fine. You wanted to say something?" 

"I'll say this wrong, CJ, I know it, but I wanted to say... I'm very happy that you're here. I'm very happy that you came, and that you're standing in front of me now, looking even more stunning than you did in your beautiful dress. I wanted to say... Whatever you tell me, whatever happens, I wanted to say that you being here makes me happy. I've missed you, and to have you here with me is enough." 

He used to write speeches for a living, this man in front of me, and he's world class. 

"Come sit with me, Samshine." 

I take his hand again and lead him to the giant sofa, I must remember to ask Sam how much this suite is costing him, but that's for another time. I sit down as Sam positions himself at the opposite end to me, he is giving me space and my heart constricts again at his small kindness. I swallow my drink in one breath and lean back, sighing to myself when the warm liquid burns my throat. 

"You want another, CJ?" 

"I want the bottle, but I'll stick to this one." 

"You keep sighing, am I making you uncomfortable sitting here?" 

"No, Sam, of course not." 

I reach out and take his hand in mine, leaning closer to Sam and his warmth. 

"I seem to ache a lot tonight, my shoulders, my head, and my feet. It's the come down from a White House dinner; usually I take a bubble bath to ease my way out of it." 

"Now that's a wonderful mental image." 

"Sam." 

"I'm just saying. Here, move over." 

He's bossier than I remember, or maybe I'm more compliant. Sam moves me to back to the far end of the sofa, drawing my legs up so that my feet rest on his legs. 

"I give a good massage CJ." 

Okay, wasn't I supposed to be sensible right now? I'm supposed to be talking about my feelings, which ones I have or do not have. Right? 

"Look, CJ, I just want to make you feel better. You can talk, or not. But I'm going to sit here, rub your feet, and make you feel better. It's what I've decided I'm going to do with my life." 

Okay. 

Okay. 

Say it CJ. Just say it. 

"That feels nice, Sam". 

I'm pretty sure that's not what I was going to say. I was going to tell him something about feelings I might have, but he really does have magic fingers and my mind is not as focused as it should be. Clarity, Claudia, rember that... 

"I don't know what we're doing here, Sam." 

"You've never had a man rub your feet before, and I thought you'd lived CJ?" 

"You're not funny as you think, Sam." 

"I know, but I'm the second funniest person in the room, so that's something." 

"Yeah." 

And we ease back into silence again; I'm taking advantage of him now. I think I could drift off to sleep in a few minutes if I completely let go and simply focus on his touch. I don't recall being this relaxed, this happy, in months. Maybe longer... That means something, doesn't it? 

"Do you remember earlier when you said you were taking control?" 

"I do, I believe I was very manly." 

"Maybe, but you've just negated all that 'manliness' by using the word 'manly' in a sentence about yourself." 

"Yeah, I get you're point." 

"Okay, so I have a request. I need for you to listen to me. I need for you to be quiet, not mock me, or fight with me, until I've said what I need to." 

"Of course." 

He stops his massage, I'm not entirely sure when I gave him permission to do that. But it's okay, because it's getting even better now. He is rubbing my ankles, and it's all I can do to remember to breathe. His strong fingers are rubbing my calves now, how do I get myself into these situations? Well, I got on a plane; I suppose I should deal with it. 

"I don't know how to say this Sam, I'm afraid of the consequences if I get this wrong." 

"It's okay, CJ, whatever you want to say is okay. Even if you want to say nothing, sitting here like this is good." 

"I know it is, but we're not just sitting here. I'm half dressed and you seem to be mapping my legs with your hands, and I like it, and I don't want for you to stop." 

"Good, that's good, because I don't want to." 

"Okay but Sam, I haven't been writing speeches to you for five years; I can't lie and say that I have. But when I read your letter it was like everything I've been afraid to feel for the last few years had been allowed an outlet. I should have called you, had a conversation, but instead I needed to see you. I wanted to be in the same room as you to see if I could force myself to not feel anything. So my coming here was a test, to see if I could resist you and your beautiful words." 

"Can you?" 

"Sam, this is my turn to ramble." 

"Sorry." 

"Okay. What if I feel like this because I'm lonely?" 

"..." 

"Sam?" 

"I thought this was your turn to speak, I was being quiet." 

"Well, I was asking you an actual question." 

"You're lonely?" 

"Of course I'm lonely, aren't you?" 

"Yes, I look for you in crowds CJ and you're never there. I shut that door at night and wonder why you're not here, so yes, I'm lonely without you." 

"But what if it's not each other, what if we just want an end to the solitary life we lead. You know what I mean, I'm afraid what I'm feeling, and what you're feeling, is the need to be with someone." 

"What is it you feel?" 

Why did he have to ask that? I thought I was doing okay just avoiding that whole section of the conversation. 

"I want to stay here. I want to crawl across this sofa and have you put your arm around me and for you to hold me, and for me to hold you back. I've thought of little else since the flight here. I'm happy right now, for no other reason than you are beside me. And that's a lie, because I'm thinking of how I felt when you kissed me, and I'm happy because you wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you." 

"More, CJ, I'm pretty sure I wanted it more." 

"And that's the thing, Sam, you didn't. You're braver than I am, and I'm helpless. That's what I'm feeling right now, helpless. And I hate that." 

"I make you helpless?" 

I'm really terrible at this. 

"Not like that, Sam. I want to be here with you, exactly where we are, more than I want anything else. I'm just a little overwhelmed by that; I didn't expect to be in love with you..." 

"What?" 

"What?" 

"CJ, you love me?" 

"Of course I do, why else would I be here? I love you, Samshine, even when I make up terrible names for you." 

"Call me whatever you want, CJ, just tell me again what you just said." 

And I do, but this time I succumb to my fantasy. I crawl over to him and rest my head on his shoulder, relaxing again as I feel Sam’s' arm curl round my body and pull me tight against his side. And I whisper the words to him, smiling as I admit my most secret fear. 

"I love you, Sam." 


End file.
